


After You'd Gone

by captainangua



Series: SPN spec ficlets [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Gen, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Sam was just a saint the entire finale and deserves happy now ok?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 04:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1675553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainangua/pseuds/captainangua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam reacts to the end of the finale</p>
            </blockquote>





	After You'd Gone

Sam waited down in that dungeon for a long, cold twenty minutes before he started shouting, screaming at the top of his lungs. Because Crowley was supposed to be here, he was supposed to be here to fix the bloody mess he made and if he wouldn’t willingly then Sam would… he would…

When his throat became hoarse from shouting, Sam slumped to the ground, feeling the drink starting to hit him now. Maybe Crowley didn’t need to come when summoned, and he’d just chosen to before, for Dean. But he wouldn’t bother moving to see what Sam wanted – why would he? When had anything Sam wanted ever been important to anyone?

Almost immediately, Sam physically slapped himself out of the self-pity session. Dean would have called him a whiny bitch, if he could hear Sam’s inner monologue now, and he’d be right. Dean, who’d never even managed to choke out an apology, even at the end. Dean, who was lying upstairs on the bed, gone…

Sam looked bleakly around at the summoning materials sitting there again. He still didn’t feel right about it, about Crowley’s absence. He’d been so sure he would’ve turned up for this, at least. Hell, he’d been practically _grooming_ Dean over the last while – it felt odd that he’d just leave him now, his most powerful weapon in the toolbox, dead and useless to him. That… that really didn’t sound like Crowley at all, now that Sam was thinking on it better. Meg had said something once like that, hadn’t she? About in the end, everything being about Crowley trying to get, to keep, what he wanted…

Unsteadily, Sam got to his feet, and quickly left the room, to walk, to run upstairs to Dean’s room again. He was being stupid, he knew that, he did, but he just wanted to _check…_

…and Dean’s room was empty. No corpse on the bed, and nothing incriminating but a lingering smell of sulphur. _How the Hell had Crowley even made it into the bunker?_

_And what the fuck had he done with Dean?_

Sam breathed heavily, as he stared around the room. None of this could be real, obviously. Or at least… none of this could be _permanent._ Dean wouldn’t be dead, Dean wouldn’t be gone… In a way, it was a relief to find the empty room. He still wouldn’t have to face a body, to face the same choice he had before, over whether to give Dean a hunter’s funeral, or whether to hold out some hope and bury him. Hell, more than that, this meant that Dean must still be useful to Crowley, and if Crowley wanted to use him for something  then… maybe, maybe there was some hope.

He called Cas first, several times, but every call went straight on to voicemail, and there were never any answers to Sam’s prayers. Hell, if Cas knew – thought – that Dean was dead, he probably wasn’t in any sort of state to be listening to any prayer, to be talking to anyone, even Sam. Or for all Sam knew, Cas and Gadreel with him could be captured, dead, with Metatron monologuing over them. Metatron, who’d plunged that blade deep into Dean’s chest…

After that, Sam took the impala through crossroads all around the area, summoning demons. Before he exorcised them, they all told him the same story, one by one. None of them had seen their King for days, and none of them knew why.

At a loss, Sam returned to the bunker and put up his feet. He glanced at the bottles of alcohol left out, but he made a conscious effort not to touch them.

Dean had always thought of this place as home, but try as he might, Sam still didn’t, couldn’t, especially now with Dean gone. Home had always been… an ideal, but not something like he’d ever felt he’d found. Not yet.

The last time Sam had tried that, kept looking, had been under similar circumstances. Dean and Cas gone, and him alone. And Dean had spent so long trying to make him feel guilty over that – but the fact was Sam didn’t, not really, only over the abandoning Kevin part. It still hurt to think of Kevin at all, really, for any reason. Kevin, with his eyes burned out, dead at Sam’s own hands, in this same room…

No. The bunker wasn’t home.

Before he left, taking a few bags into the impala and driving West, Sam thought about leaving a note by the door, in case Cas, or, somehow, Dean, should return and find him gone. But there didn’t seem to be all that much point in that. If Cas was alive to check his phone, he’d be able to call Sam back. And if Dean was… something, then. Well. Why had he left in the first place?

He wouldn’t stop looking, Sam reminded himself as he started up the engine. He’d never be able to… turn off. But Dean didn’t have to be his focus – none of this, needed to be his focus. And useful as it was, the bunker wasn’t a place he wanted to live, especially not alone. He… he needed to leave. He needed to find some place to… get himself back.

And he promised himself that this time there would be no guilt. Dean had said that it wasn’t his fight. Well ok. If Dean ever got over himself, he could come and tell Sam when it was supposed to be his fight, when he wanted Sam to join in. And thinking about it that way meant that Sam didn’t need to deal with any grief. And that, for now, helped.


End file.
